


sometimes

by earlymorningechoes



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s03e10 Blink, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlymorningechoes/pseuds/earlymorningechoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard for both Martha and the Doctor to be trapped in 1969, for different reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sometimes

     She comes home and finds him crying.

     They’ve been stuck in 1969 for a little over a week, now, and he’s been antsy the whole time. He doesn’t do this settling-down thing very well at all. She supposes that makes sense – when you’ve spent your whole life travelling space and time, living in a tiny, cramped flat in backwater London must be torturous.

     At least they’ve got a flat. The Doctor had charmed the landlord with a bit of help from the psychic paper (the landlord wasn’t very bright), and while they’d only got the smallest flat in the awkward corner of the building, it was mercifully furnished.

     And now he’s sitting on the couch with a book, looking for all the world as if he’d just sat down for a break – but crying. She kicks off her shoes and sits next to him, absolutely unsure of how to deal with him and crying.

     “Doctor?” she ventures, and he looks at her with wet eyes. He isn’t sobbing, just crying, silently. He swipes at the tears and slams his book closed, as if he’s embarrassed that she’s seen him in that state.

     “What’s wrong?” she asks, drawing her feet up underneath her. He looks as if he’s ready to bolt and never answer, but she fixes him with a familiar look – Martha Jones does not back down. Sighing, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, not looking at her anymore.

     “I don’t stop, because stopping involves remembering,” he says. And then he’s gone, the slam of the front door ringing in her ears.

     She forgets, sometimes. He never does.

\----------

     She comes home and finds him tinkering.

     His hair is even more unruly than usual, and their living room is covered with an odd assortment of tools. He’s in jeans and shirtsleeves and his glasses are slightly askew, and a smile creeps across Martha’s face.

     The Doctor looks up and notices her standing there, and the first thing he says is definitely not what she was expecting.

     “They don’t have microprocessors in this century!” he tells her indignantly, waving what appears to be the remnants of their radio. Laughing, she settles down beside him on the floor, patching up the radio and discovering when she’s done that she’s accidentally remade it a few years ahead of its time (well, at least it can pick up that channel the Doctor’s been wanting that it couldn’t get before). At his surprised smile she explains: she’s always loved fixing things – it’s how she knew she wanted to fix people.

     An understanding look crosses his face, and then he’s moving again, rummaging through their cupboards for a snack, and she’s left staring at his back, wondering.

     He forgets, sometimes. She never does.

\----------

     She comes home and finds him sleeping.

     He’s draped over the couch, his long legs spilling off over the edge and his arm somehow resting on the coffee table, a letter still in his hand. She recognizes the handwriting – Kathy Nightingale, now Kathy Wainright. The woman who’d gotten sent back to 1920 instead of 1969 (Martha’s completely unsure how the Doctor found out about her, but it probably had to do with that file the girl had given them when they’d tumbled out of that taxi in 2008 London), who’d been sending the Doctor a few letters to explain what had happened to her (and about her friend Sally, who was apparently quite interested in that creepy old house where they’d accidentally been touched by an Angel).

     Humming to herself, Martha sets the tea kettle on, knowing the whistle when it’s ready will wake the sleeping Doctor. The cramped little flat has become more homey as they’ve been stuck for longer and longer, Martha going to work and the Doctor bustling around the city trying to figure out how to get them back. It’s good to have a home base, she thinks, and they’ve added a few touches to make it less stark. Without trying, it’s ended up in similar colors to the interior of the TARDIS.

     Suddenly the tea kettle whistles, and Martha jumps as the Doctor begins to stir. She laughs when he sits up and is a bit disoriented, looking around wildly for a second before focusing on her and joining in the laughter. He straightens himself out and accepts a cup from her, leaning on the counter while she talks about her day.

     They don’t have to remember, sometimes.

\----------

     She comes home and finds him drawing.

     It’s an uncomfortable flashback to the last time they were stuck someplace for a long time. He’d drawn then, too – a way to let his suppressed consciousness express itself. But that time he’d been John Smith, and she’d been just a maid, and everything had gone wrong.

     It wouldn’t go wrong again. Not this time. He was the proper Doctor, and they had that file, and they were going to figure it out.

     She watches him draw for a moment, and he doesn’t notice her until he realizes the light has shifted because she’s sitting near the window.

     “Martha!” he says, a tone of surprise in his voice. She rolls her eyes – she’d been telling him for a week that she’d be home early.

     “Can I see what you’re drawing?” she asks, not sure if she actually wants to see. But when he looks slightly unsure of himself (a look she’d never associated with him) and slides it towards her slowly, she leans over to look, biting her lip. And then she gasps, because even though she’s come to expect the unexpected with him, this is not at all what she thought was within the realm of possibility.

     It’s her. Not as she looks most days, but lighter, maybe. He’s drawn her sitting on the window seat, in the same place she is now, but looking outward instead of inward. And in the background, through the window, she can just make out a familiar blue smudge.

     She looks back at him, and a sad smile has settled on his face. He holds the drawing out to her, but she doesn’t take it, staring again at the blue smudge.

     They can’t forget, sometimes.

\----------

     She comes home and finds him unable to sit still.

     She’s not even completely in the doorway yet when he’s turning her around and pushing her out again, yammering on about “Billy Shipton from the file, today!” She’s wriggled out of his grasp and back into the apartment quite quickly, laughing at the disconcerted look on his face as she heads for her dresser.

     “I am not meeting someone from 2007 dressed in my work clothes,” she tells him, laughing as she pulls on the familiar and comfortable pair of jeans that had been brand-new when they’d first ended up in 1969. (They’ve been there four months, two weeks, three days, and seventeen hours by this point. She’s sure the Doctor knows the minutes too.)

     The next few hours are a whirlwind. They take the tube to where Sally’s info says this Billy Shipton character will appear, and of course they’re right on time: a man a few years Martha’s senior pops out of nowhere, sitting with his head down between his knees on the sidewalk.

     Martha feels her heart skip a beat. This is where it all gets real, she thinks, where they’re finally going to have a chance at going home.

     They explain who they are, what’s going on, and then convince Billy that he should come back to their flat. He follows them blindly, completely disoriented, and still asking questions about Sally and how they know who she is.

     Finally, finally, they’re pulling out this massive video camera that the Doctor scrounged up ages ago, and the Doctor has that transcript of the videotaped conversation he’s supposed to have that will end up on Sally’s seventeen DVDs, and Martha’s suddenly transfixed again.

     This is the Doctor she knows, and she’s accidentally admitted more than once that she’s in love with him, and four months two weeks three days and twenty-one hours of him all in the right order hasn’t changed that at all. But she’s going to keep that hidden for the moment, and now they’re recording.

            When the Doctor explains that they’re stuck in 1969, she leans down over his shoulder and talks to the camera as well. “We're stuck. All of space and time he promised me. Now I've got a job in a shop, I've got to support him!” She’s not sure where the indignation came from, but it’s suddenly there, and the Doctor looks up at her with an annoyed look.

     “Martha!” he exclaims, and she backs away.

     “Sorry,” she mumbles. She plops down in her usual spot on the couch, watching as they tape against the back wall.

     She knows exactly what’s coming for Sally when the Doctor’s transcript runs out, and she feels her heart beating faster again as he and Billy start to pack up the video equipment, the Doctor yammering all the while about everything Billy has to do between now and a rainy June day in 2007 where he’ll meet up with Sally again, forty years older.

     Once Billy’s gone out to get some food (the Doctor’s told him that the flat will be his soon, and Billy claims that going for a walk and something to eat will help him process everything that’s happened to him), a smile slowly spreads across the Doctor’s face and he jumps up, grabbing Martha’s hands and dancing her around the room.

     Remembering is the best thing there is, sometimes.

\----------

     The next time Martha comes home, it is to a big blue box that wheezes and groans into and out of existence, and she finds him leaning nonchalantly against the railing.

     “What’s up?” she asks, draping her jacket over the railing next to him and leaning back as well.

     He starts speaking faster than she’s heard in a while, almost causing her to laugh before she’s even heard what he’s going to say. They’re back to grand plans and crazy mishaps, wandering through London streets with a bow and arrow searching for four things and a lizard, shouting “expelliarmus!” at Carrionite witches from another time and place and sometimes universe, she thinks.

     He jumps to the console and starts banging away at switches and dials, still speaking at a million miles an hour. Resting her hands on the counter, Martha watches him for a moment and then closes her eyes, and so she’s surprised when he sweeps her up into a hug and suddenly spins her around.

     “The Doctor and Martha, back in the TARDIS,” he tells her as he sets her down, his eyes crinkling into a smile a little bit more than they used to. She nods, feeling her own eyes match.

     “The best of times,” she replies, and they’re both reaching for something to hold onto as the TARDIS jerks wildly as it enters the vortex.

     Sometimes, it’s the little things that are worth remembering.


End file.
